


proof in the pudding

by sinspiration



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Food Issues, Gen, General suffering, Things Get Better
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-16
Updated: 2018-04-16
Packaged: 2019-04-23 12:30:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14332512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinspiration/pseuds/sinspiration
Summary: He’s about halfway through eating when he starts feeling sick. Then he scrambles to push away from the table in order tobesick. When he’s emptied the contents of his stomach, he pulls himself up and grabs onto the sink’s counter, panting and shaky. What the hell just happened? He was feeling fine.





	proof in the pudding

**Author's Note:**

> I liiiive. Or, at least, I take a break from editing to finally write another Check, Please fic. Because why not make Kent Parson suffer? 
> 
> (the answer is: because I am Mean)
> 
> WARNINGS: a lot of food talk and disordered eating. Not uh, really, but the assumption of ED is made, and not without cause. See end notes for explanations.

It’s a perfectly ordinary day the first time it happens. Kent gets up and goes about his morning routine (up, feed Kit, down a protein shake, go for a run, etc). After his shower, he makes himself breakfast. He’s trying to keep up weight, so said breakfast is a three-egg omelette, toast and butter, orange juice…all pretty typical.

He’s about halfway through eating when he starts feeling sick. Then he scrambles to push away from the table in order to  _be_  sick. When he’s emptied the contents of his stomach, he pulls himself up and grabs onto the sink’s counter, panting and shaky. What the hell just happened? He was feeling fine. Now he felt awful. He’s never had an illness hit him that fast before.

He makes it to skate anyway, but the guys can tell he’s off his game. And he hasn’t eaten, considering, which doesn’t help. Guzzling some Gatorade and a couple protein bars take the edge off some. He’s mostly feeling okay by the time they go for lunch.

 

-

 

The next day he meets a few of the guys for breakfast. He’s hungrier than usual (maybe because he was sick yesterday?) and orders a huge plate of waffles with several sides of bacon. He’s feeling perfectly fine today, so he writes yesterday off as a weird, like, 3-hour illness.

He last until he’s just out of the restaurant, and it’s only luck that he’s already said goodbye to the guys so they don’t see him.

 

-

 

Lunch is salmon, veggies, a sweet potato. He’s able to keep it all down, thank god.

 

-

 

He makes a veggie scramble for dinner that night, with a bunch of rice, and settles down to watch some TV while he eats. It’s always easier to eat with a distraction, especially since he’s got to eat so much food.

Halfway into his show, he has to bolt to the bathroom. Rinses out his mouth and definitely doesn’t feel like eating anymore.

He goes to bed early, a little afraid that he’s going to have to call in sick tomorrow.

 

-

 

He wakes up okay. Throws away his scramble for fear that something’s wrong with it and makes himself a smoothie with plenty of peanut butter and enjoys the whole thing. He’s  _starving._  Ends up making himself a second smoothie, with ice cream this time (because why not).

Lacing up his shoes, he starts feeling awful, but he tries to ignore it because no, this is ridiculous.

This time, in the bathroom, he both calls in sick and then makes an emergency doctor appointment.

 

-

 

There is, apparently, nothing wrong with him. He gets some bloodwork done, so he’s going to have to wait on those results for a couple days, but he appears to be fine.

Probably he’s just coming down with a bug or something

(no fever, and when he has to get sick it’s sudden, and then it passes in a couple hours but sure, maybe–)

(the tests don’t show anything either.)

 

-

 

He’s dropping weight because he can’t  _eat._  And there’s no pattern either. Some days he’s fine, some days it seems like he can’t keep anything down. He’s practicing hard and losing even more weight because of it and he’s being given Looks from just about everyone. But he’s  _trying_  okay. He’s slowly figuring out what does and doesn’t set him off. Meats seem to be fine, and vegetables as long as he doesn’t do anything to them. And he can’t eat sandwiches? Chocolate is fine, ice cream makes him sick. So does pretty much any baked good. Pasta is okay but sometimes it isn’t. Some of his protein shakes are okay, but others aren’t, so he’s sticking to certain brands and eating a lot of chicken and broccoli and–it’s  _cutting_  food. He tries to eat more (fatty things, beef and butter and nuts–plenty of trail mix–what carbs he can stomach), get the calories he needs, but it’s a struggle.

It’s showing too. He’s got no extra fat anywhere anymore, and that means he’s also losing muscle. Looking in the mirror he’s a washboard but his face is gaunt. People are noticing. The press is noticing. There are flurries of questions back and forth about him being sick, about him dying, pushing through something and he is but he has no idea what the hell is going on. He starts begging off of eating out with the team, because he has no idea what’ll happen with any given meal and they–they can’t know. That he might really be  _sick._

 

-

 

Things come to a head when he’s out with the team for dinner. He’s ravenous but looking at the menu fills him with trepidation. Food is not something he’s been looking forward to lately, and he has no idea what to chose. He’s basically living off protein shakes right now, because vegetables fill him up but don’t give him nearly enough calories and the carbs he needs he basically can’t have. It’s also not working. He’d tried a new shake for lunch (stupid, he should know better by now than to try something new when he couldn’t throw up in his own place) and hadn’t been able to keep it down.

After staring at the menu for probably too long, Swoops grabs it. “Maybe I’ll order for you, yeah? I know your favorites.”

Kent can’t smile. He’s too tired. He can’t  _eat_ most of his favorites anymore. But he doesn’t know which ones, because sometimes they’re okay and sometimes they aren’t. “Yeah,” he says. “Sure.”

Swoops narrows his eyes, but then he’s smiling again. “Alright, I’ll order you something good.”

What arrives for Kent is…a lot of food. A fried rice dish, salmon, mashed potatoes…it all smells great, and aside from that, Swoops is watching him. Like he’s waiting for Kent to eat.

Kent takes a forkful trying to hide the fact that his hands are shaking. He can eat salmon, he’s pretty sure. It hasn’t made him sick yet. As far as he knows. So he starts with that. Eating slowly in the hopes that everyone’ll get bored of staring at his plate.

Most of them do, but Swoops keeps glancing over and then Kent’s done with the salmon and starting on the rice and–

He knows what it feels like now, so he’s got enough warning to quickly stand up and not-quite-run to the restroom. Throws himself into a stall in time to empty his stomach of what he just managed to fill it with. When he’s done heaving, he pulls the mini mouthwash he’s started carrying with him and swishes before spitting, and then flushes everything away.

His team is out there though, probably wondering why the fuck he basically ran away form the table, so he pushes to his feet and opens the door to the stall–

–and Swoops is there, leaning against the sink counter, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

“Sorry,” Kent says feebly. “Were you waiting?” Which is stupid, since all the other stalls are clearly open.

There is a stretch of silence, and then Swoops shakes his head. “No. Just wondering where you went.”

“Okay.”

Back at the table, Kent leaves the rice and picks at the potato. He can feel Swoops’ eyes on him, but he can’t make himself do more than he already has.

 

-

 

He’s home, late, downing a protein drink that so far hasn’t made him throw up when his phone rings.

It’s Swoops.

“Yeah?”

“I’m outside. Let me in?”

What the fuck? “Uh…sure, okay.”

Swoops is carrying a bag of what smells like Chinese food, and makes a beeline for Kent’s kitchen, setting it all down on the table.

“Uh,” Kent says, watching him. “Hi?”

“Hey. Figured if I was bothering you this late, I might as well come with food. Brought you wonton soup, beef and broccoli, all the good stuff.”

Kent tries to smile. “Cool. Thanks.” He hasn’t tried Chinese food in a while and can’t even remember if it got him sick the last time he did. Maybe he can start with the soup. Soup might be safe.

(Chicken noodle soup wasn’t. He’d tried that when he first starting feeling sick. But broth was okay. So maybe the wonton would–)

Kent pulls out plates and stuff, and they both sit around their kitchen table. It smells great, but Kent keeps staring at his bowl of wonton soup and imagining it all flushing down.

“Something wrong?”

Kent shakes his head. “Nah just, uh. Not feeling so great.” He tries to stop staring at his food and picks up his spoon. He eats a bowl of soup and wontons. Reaches for the beef and broccoli next, because Swoops is watching him but before he can even take a bite of that “I–sorry–I–bathroom–”

Swoops is waiting for him once Kent emerges on shaky legs. He’ll have to have more protein shakes when Swoops leaves, scarf down as much trail mix as he can manage just in order to make up for what he lost.

“Sorry,” he tries. “Sometimes you just–”

“Kent.” Swoops swallows. “What’s going on?”

Kent looks away. “Nothing. Just, you know, got a little sick.”

Swoops keeps looking at him. “Kent, come on. You-you can talk to me. You know that, right?”

“Of course.” Except for stuff like this. Stuff that makes Kent  _weak._  “But I’m really fine.”

“You’re not eating.” Swoops says quietly. “And I know this isn’t the first time you’ve thrown up a meal.”

“It’s…” he flounders. “I just haven’t been feeling so great. I went to the doctor.”

“When?”

Like a month ago. “You know. Recently.”

“And?”

Kent shrugs, unsure of what to say.

“Kent, I–” Swoops steps forward. “I’m really fucking worried about you.”

“I’m fine.” He is. He will be. There’s no other option.

“You’re not  _eating!”_

Swoops sounds so terrified that Kent sags. Just kind of collapses where he stands until he’s sitting on the floor. “Fuck,” he manages, “I know. I know. Fuck.”

“Please, I–” Swoops takes Kent’s hands, and it’s scary how thin Kent’s wrists are, especially in comparison. “Please talk to me. Whatever it is.”

Kent lets out a breath and just goes for it.

When he’s done, Swoops looks a little less scared and a little more determined. “Okay,” he says. “That’s…that’s something we can figure out.”

 

-

 

Kent goes to the doctor again, and Swoops goes with him. Swoops is the one who talks, explains what’s been really going on, while Kent leans against him feeling tired. He gets put on an elimination diet. He takes that, and the doctor’s notes, with him to talk to his GM. They bench him, which is…not a surprise, but feels like a failure.

“It’s only until we get this under control,” he gets told. “Your health is the most important thing right now.”

He’s kind of living off of protein shakes, but that’s not really new anymore. And at least knowing he can’t eat any of the stuff on his list helps, because then he doesn’t have to keep trying.

 

-

 

“Eggs. Are you fucking kidding me? I’m allergic to  _eggs?_  How does that even happen? I was fine and then just boom–allergic?” Even as he says it though, it is such an incredible relief. This is something he can deal with. He might be able to control things now. Stop ping-ponging between being sick and being hungry. He gets another list, this time of safe foods and products, instructions on how to read labels. “Contain traces of” seems to be okay, so at least he doesn’t have to worry about that sort of contamination.

After a week with his new-new diet, he’s already feeling better. On top of that, the utter dread is gone. It’s amazing to be without it, because it had hung heavy on his shoulders for long he hadn’t even realized how much it was beating him down.

It’s still more food than he’d like, but the fact that he can eat it without being sick makes it easier. Progress is still a little slow, because it takes time to undo how he’d started to think about and react to food, but he manages to put on ten pounds. Swoops takes him out for vegan ice cream to celebrate. It’s pretty good.

Expressing that opinion ends up with Swoops buying a pint of every single flavor they sell in their take-home section.

“I can’t eat all of this,” Kent protests as Swoops takes the bags to the car.

Swoops looks at him. “Yes, you can.”

“Okay fine,” Kent mutters. “But not all at once.”

The team is really good about it, and they take to asking about ingredients and checking out labels even more than Kent does. They also still sometimes kind of watch him like hawks when he eats but he accepts that as them looking out for him. At family events, dishes get little post-its that say whether or not he can eat them. “SAFE FOR KENT” and “KEEP YOUR PAWS OFF PARSER.” They make him smile.

There are still issues sometimes, things aren’t properly labeled or Kent forgets to check, but mostly he’s okay.

And, for his birthday that year, Swoops actually bakes a cake himself. An honest-to-god from-scratch (eggless) cake.

“This is really fucking good,” Kent says after maybe his third slice.

Swoops grins. “It better be. The internet has a lot of conflicting information about what to use for egg substitute. I feel like I should have a fucking science degree by now.”

Kent raises an eyebrow. “It was seriously that hard?”

Swoops nudges him. “Nah. I just found a recipe I liked and then tried a couple different things. This’s got flax seed in it.”

“It does?”

“Yeah, I liked it better than how the applesauce attempt tasted.”

“How many cakes did you make?” Kent asks incredulously. Because that’s at least three, if he made the cakes as an experiment and then made it again for the party.

Swoops shrugs.

(Then answer, Kent finds out later, is six.)

**Author's Note:**

> Kent develops an extreme allergy to eggs and doesn't know it. Allergy results in a lot of bad reactions, mostly resulting in vomiting up his food. There is continued mention of him being hungry and not being able to eat, until the issue is addressed and fixed.
> 
> Dedicated to friend of mine who is allergic to the entire world. <3


End file.
